


to think that we could stay the same

by writerblender



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, i don't really know what this is besides two immortal gays being in love, they go back to italy and stuff happens enjoy xoxo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerblender/pseuds/writerblender
Summary: Nicky asks, one night, in the quiet of the dark, when he's sure Andy and Nile are asleep in the adjacent room.”If you wish,” Joe’s reply is soft, “I will take you there.”[or, nicky and joe return to genoa for the first time in a millenia. it, of course, does not go as planned.]
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 23
Kudos: 343





	to think that we could stay the same

**Author's Note:**

> psa: there's an implication of attempted sexual assault/harassment but nothing happens and also nicky kills the guy immediately. regardless, if that's potentially triggering, proceed with caution! it's not a large part of the plot, only mentioned, but still, take care of yourselves.

Nicky asks, one night, in the quiet of the dark, when he's sure Andy and Nile are asleep in the adjacent room. He doesn't have to check if Joe is still awake; he already knows. A thousand years of the love of his life by his side, tucked peacefully behind him each night, has granted him enough wisdom to know without looking.

”If you wish,” is Joe’s only reply. His grip tightens, just slightly, around Nicky’s wrist, thumb brushing delicately over his pulse. “I will take you there.”

Nicky doesn’t say another word about it, but two days later, Nile slides him an envelope with two train tickets to Italy tucked inside. Joe winks at him from across the table, over his tea, and Nicky’s heart soars, even now. He is so lucky to be loved.

...

Nicky is silent the morning they leave, unusually so. The kitchen, normally full of loud banter and discussion, is quiet, save for Nile's small attempts at conversation. Joe does his best to keep up with her, careful to always keep an eye on Nicky. The morning comes and goes, ushering the leave of both Nicky and Joe if they wish to make their train. Joe can hear Nile ask Andy, once they are almost out the door and what he's sure Nile assumes is hearing distance, why this trip means so much to Nicky. Why would it mean so much to him if he's from there, anyway?

"She is young," Nicky observes. Joe knows that he'd heard Nile’s musings, but it never ceases to amaze him how Nicky's thoughts align with his, even after a millennia.

Joe only nods, pulling Nicky to him and pressing a kiss to the side of his head, lingering and gentle. Nicky knows he owes her no explanation of his past, even when he’s divulged so much more than the rest of them already. He has offered up enough of his heart.

...

Nicky remains silent for their walk to the train station, as well as for the majority of the ride. The only time he so much as communicates with Joe is taking his hand in his once they’ve found their seats, threading their fingers together to rest between them. It’s discrete — no one would notice unless they were looking — but it still makes Joe’s heart flutter as if he were just caught kissing in a crowded room.

Joe doesn’t mind the silence, especially not in the way he and Nicky have learned to communicate with one another, but he does notice, almost instantly, how Nicky’s grip tightens in his when they announce that the train will be arriving in fifteen minutes. Joe takes a moment to study his lover’s face, which looks perfectly calm to the untrained eye. Joe, however, can see the pain in his eyes. The slight furrow in his brow. The tension held in the upward motion of his shoulders. 

When Nicky had left home in 1099, he had not anticipated on returning. When Jerusalem fell and neither he nor Joe could seem to die by any sword or force greater than they, he never looked back. Andy’s home had long since been destroyed in the several thousand years she’d watched the world reinvent itself and they’d often made trips for Joe’s, and nostalgia’s, sake. Booker had spent whatever time he could holding onto his home and Nile was just learning to let go. Nicky is not sure if his is even still there any longer. History has taught him several architectures from his time have survived with him, but he knows that his memories, of both town and those he loved, who loved _him_ , have long since faded. He's had no interest in returning to the land he'd lost.

So, when Nicky had brought up the mention of home for the first time in a thousand years, Joe had figured it meant something. Enough that he hadn't even questioned his request.

Once the attendant walks past them, giving them a polite but warm smile, Joe leans in to press a kiss to the underside of Nicky's jaw. He watches as some of the tension, still held tight within him, begins to bleed away. Nicky turns, pressing a lingering kiss to Joe's mouth, tongue pushing the other man's mouth open for more access, before he remembers this is a public area, and pulls himself away, much to Joe's disapproval. Joe pouts, only satiated by Nicky giving another, quicker, kiss. They must look like teenagers in love; Joe lets the other passengers around them wonder. He knows his disappointment will make Nicky cave sooner than later, and he leans in to kiss him again, when the train finally comes to a stop and, so do they.

Joe settles to hold Nicky’s hand tighter, unwilling to let go even as they stand to exit, and hopes it is enough.

...

Their train does not take them to Genoa, so they spend the rest of their day in a car that Joe insists on properly renting, under a fake name, _of course_ , to make it to Nicky’s hometown. Nicky falls asleep in the passenger seat, lulled into a temporary peace by the hum of the car and the privacy it provides. He is safe when it is just Joe next to him; there is no one to hide from.

They have a safe house, a small apartment tucked into bustling streets, and Joe is careful to make sure Nicky stays asleep until he is as close as he can get to their home.

Nicky insists that he go to get them dinner, having not eaten all day, and that he knows the area best, despite having not been there in hundreds of years. He's just as clueless as Joe is, but his eyes light up for the first time that day at the offer and Joe is helpless to do anything he can to make Nicky happy. He trusts Nicky's discretion; he's always been picky about their food, demanding the best, especially when Booker would bring back less than satisfactory take-out, so Joe lets him go.

He isn't gone any longer than Joe expects, but when he walks back into the front door, the front of his shirt is covered in dried blood. He gives Joe a sheepish smile as he immediately stands, rushing over to him, knowing whatever has happened has already healed over by now. Still, he can't mask the concern that rattles his ribcage. Someone hurt Nicky — _his_ Nicky, his _heart_ — and he wasn't there. They have always died together, from the beginning. Nicky had been so anxious to return to his homeland, now only to be killed the second he entered. Joe feels the weight of it, almost all at once.

"The food is getting cold," is the first thing Nicky says as Joe's hands frantically search him for the faded injury before settling to cup his face, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. He presses his forehead to Nicky's, and the other man sighs, soft and slow.

"There was a girl," he explains, voice quiet. "She was in the alleyway. He wouldn't leave her alone."

"Nicolò, my knight," Joe breathes. Words from the armored van, confessed only six months ago, but so many times before, echo around them. _His heart overflows with a kindness this world is not worthy of._ There's a beat of a silence that passes between them, where they simply breathe in each other's air, each other's company, each other's souls, before Joe speaks again. "Is she alright?"

Nicky nods. Joe doesn't expect anything else; the answer does not surprise him in the slightest.

"What did he do?" Joe asks, hands trailing down to rest at the collar of Nicky's now soiled shirt. Nicky reaches up his own hand to circle fingers around Joe's wrist, a calming presence, his thumb brushing his pulse point delicately. Joe almost wants to pull away from the action; it is so reminiscent of Nicky comforting him, when he should be the one comforting Nicky. Then again, neither of them are in a good place when one of them dies.

"He had a knife," Nicky says, and, up close, Joe can see the numerous holes now riddled in the front of the fabric. He doesn't elaborate any more, and Joe doesn't ask. He doesn't need to. 

"Did you kill him?" Joe feels foolish to ask; Nicky has always been righteous, inserting himself between bystanders and the danger that greets them, always protecting even those he did not know. Of course he would wring the life from a man for daring to take from a woman what was never his. Nicky gives him a long look, fury burning behind his eyes, and it is answer enough for Joe.

"I'm sorry, Nicolò," Joe breathes. This was supposed to be a vacation — a break from missions and Merrick. Standing here, now, Joe’s heart sinks knowing that they are far from that idea. Nicky only shakes his head, moving now to take Joe's hand in his own, and guiding him toward the bathroom.

"Come," he says, voice light and small smirk growing on his face. "You can help me clean up."

Joe grins, teasing words falling freely from his lips now, and, just like that, the tension of the prior moment and their food, is long forgotten. Later, they will reheat their cold leftovers on their small gas stove, and Joe will satiate Nicky's complaints about reheated food with kisses until they once again forget about the food in front of them. After all, with Nicky leading him, Joe is helpless to follow.

...

The next morning, they mill around the streets, stopping in small stores and cafes as they please, until the sun is highest in the sky above them and Nicky leads him to their destination for the day, discussed over hushed whispers late last night.

The building they're looking for is tucked behind the public library, just a small brick dwelling where a small bell goes off as Nicky pushes the door open. He calls out, finding there is no one at the front desk, but the only living creature that greets them is the black tabby cat, lying lazily atop the counter. It swings its tail in their direction, but the room is otherwise unoccupied.

"Do you think we should ask him for help?" Nicky asks, sly grin on his face as he gestures to the cat.

Joe laughs, tempted to extend Nicky's joke even further by actually asking the feline for help before suggesting they go back to the library for assistance when a flurry of dark hair and bright colored fabric emerges from the back door, presumably where the records are stored. A young woman, carrying a large brown box stuffed with papers, turns, bright, welcoming smile naturally on her face, and nearly drops the box and all of its contents when she sees them.

Joe almost chalks it up to their combined good looks, the wisecrack already ready on his tongue, when he sees Nicky's face. He's staring back at the young woman with wide eyes — he's _scared_. Worst of all, Joe realizes, is that it's because he _knows_ this girl. Dread builds, hot and fast, in his stomach, but he assures himself the odds are astronomically low, that it couldn't possibly be _her_ —

"How are you...?" She begins, her voice shaking. Nicky takes a step forward, most likely to help her with the box trembling in her hold, and she steps backwards, almost slamming into the wall behind her. He stops, carefully considering his next words.

"You were in shock," Nicky tries, his voice gentle as Joe's ever heard it. For a moment, Joe thinks he might still be talking to the cat. "Nothing happened to me."

The expression on the woman's face shows that his sloppy lie has not fooled her, and, if the situation weren't so dire, Joe would laugh at how she rolls her eyes at him. "I know what I saw," she says. She reminds Joe so much of Nile that he makes a mental note to introduce them if they can work their way out of this. He doubts it, but _still_.

"I’m alright, I promise you. Ask my love. I'd not have returned straight to him last night if I was injured."

The woman's eyes widen at Nicky's words, but not in the hateful way either of them are used to. She’s seeking Nicky's words to be true, for some explanation to the mess her mind is trying to sort out.

”It’s true,” Joe insists, placing a hand on Nicky’s back gently as a reassurance. To who, he’s not quite sure yet. “He was more concerned about our food going cold.”

Nicky gives him a sharp look; Joe realizes now that his words seem more callous than comforting. Nicky has always been better in situations like these; Joe has always been the head with Nicky as his heart. The woman only blinks at them, clearly processing the situation, when Nicky speaks again.

”We should not have come,” he says softly, and Joe’s heart shatters. He knows Nicky means beyond the small records hall they’ve found themselves in; it had been the only thing that Joe had tried to prevent, and still, it is all unraveling in front of him. The venture here had been riddled with nothing but unfortunate for Nicky, and Joe is not sure that even his best plans can fix this. “We will leave you alone. We are sorry to have disrupted you.” Nicky turns, taking Joe’s hand in his tightly, and Joe is once again helpless to follow him despite his heartache, when they’re stopped once more.

”No!” The woman cries, setting the box down onto the desk so quickly it sends the once docile cat fleeing from its resting spot. “No! I — You saved me, last night. I owe you.”

”You do not owe me anything,” Nicky responds instantly.

”Right,” the woman nods, “but I want to. To help. You helped me. Let me do this for you, please.”

Nicky turns to look at Joe, as if asking for his approval, and Joe cannot help the smile that spills onto his face. Humanity continues to surprise him, often in showing the infinite kindness Nicky is so fond of back to him. “Alright,” he relents, and she beams. 

“I assume you’re looking for records of some sort. Any particular names? Years? Events?” The woman asks.

”The Crusades,” Nicky offers, voice quiet. They both know what information he wants is almost impossible to obtain, most of it lost to history and only left in their memory. “The First, specifically.”

”Oh.” Joe can see the surprise and disappointment on the woman’s face, all at once. “We have history on Genoa during that time at the library,” she begins, “but most of what could’ve told us about Genoa specifically, and the people who lived here, was destroyed in later battles. Genoa was a major port city during those times, I’m sure you know.” She pauses, considering her options before she continues. “The only thing we have record wise is a list of clergy. Some of the churches were left untouched, but I doubt your ancestors were the celibate kind.”

He knows Nicky will protest, will say that it's alright, that they're sorry to have have bothered her, that if it's information about him then he doesn't want it, so he takes it upon himself to speak first. "Please," he asks her and the woman only offers him another quick, polite smile before she disappears into the back office, her bright dress leaving a streak of color in her wake once again.

Nicky turns to look at him now, surprised gaze on his face. "What are you doing? You already know me," He asks softly, and Joe steps forward, taking Nicky's other hand gently from where it’s tucked into his pocket and into his. This isn't about relearning a history he's lived alongside; it's the recognition that it happened — that they were there. Their bodies may live for thousands of years but their memories fade with time just like everyone else. He pulls Nicky toward him, holding him there, foreheads pressed together, reminiscent of the night before, and it's more effective than any words exchanged among them. Their love has transcended meager words; they can exchange more in simple, physical touches than drawn-out conversations.

They are still together, drinking each other in, when the door opens.

"Oh!" Joe braces himself for the distaste, the snide remark they've spent their lives hearing, when she surprises him yet again. She blushes, clearly embarrassed that she's intruded on the moment, and fidgets with the binder in her hands. "I can, uh, give you two a moment," she offers, gesturing back to the door she just entered from, but Nicky and Joe both shake their heads, moving toward the front desk in sync.

The woman places the binder on the ledge, opening it and pointing to large, printed photocopies of old, yellowed text, all protected behind laminated covers. "It's not the real thing, obviously," she states, "but it sure is close!" The faux excitement at the end of her sentence, clearly a line taught to her by her boss to keep individuals pleased, makes Nicky smile, and it seems to ease some of the nerves that have been hanging around them both. "I, uh, have something else I think you might find interesting. Just promise you won’t take the binder and run?"

"No promises," Joe teases, and her eyes widen in surprise, looking between the two, before she realizes that Joe is joking with her. Her laugh echoes through the room, even as she disappears again. Joe watches her leave, only to turn and see Nicky pouring over the pages carefully, eyes skimming each line with a look that Joe hasn't seen in so long.

Joe is a quiet but steady presence nearby, arm wrapping around his waist, resting his chin on Nicky's shoulder, watching carefully and reading names he doesn't recognize. He's perhaps on the tenth page before Joe sees it, letting out a small cry of recognition. There, scrawled in the middle of the yellowing pages, is a familiar scrawl of Nicolò's name, signing his life to the priesthood before he had realized his soul was already signed to another destiny, tied to another man's life.

"My Nicolò," Joe breathes, pressing a kiss to the underside of Nicky's jaw. "Such a devoted man."

"A thousand years later and you're still trying to seduce a man of the cloth. You're insatiable," Nicky huffs, but the smile on his face is genuine. Joe has heard his lover's laugh hundreds of times but it still sends butterflies erupting in his ribcage; there is no doubt within him that this man is his heart. 

Joe is about to tempt Nicky into stealing the photocopy presented to them, promising that they can make another, when the opening of the door interrupts them once again. In the young woman's hand is a stack of papers, aged but all too familiar to Joe. 

"We were sent these about six months ago. We wanted to transfer them to a museum but nobody can authenticate them. We’re thinking of selling them at auction." The woman examines the top-most document, gaze flickering up to Nicky immediately. She extends the papers to him and he takes them just as wordlessly.

All he sees is a glimpse of the first sketch and his breath catches, turning to look at Joe in amazement. Joe recognizes them, of course; he is the one who sent them in after finding them tucked under their bed at the London safe house. He'd sent them here in an attempt to preserve what little of Nicky he can. It's not like he and Nicky don't have thousands of sketchbooks filled with every aspect of Nicky’s form, down to the smallest of details. He didn't find these to be anything particularly different or special, aside from the fact that they're the only sketches of Nicky's family — his mother and sister — captured the way Nicky had described to him in long nights after battle, unlearning their hatred for one another. He'd kept these special, hidden, re-sketching them every few years in an effort to preserve the paper that begins to forget their faces throughout the decades. He hadn't anticipated that this would be the way Nicky would discover these drawings — his best kept secret over a thousand years, one of the only between them. He hadn’t anticipated Nicky ever wanting to return, or for the clerk to have such keen eyes. He hadn’t anticipated anything when it came to Nicky.

"Yusuf..." Nicky breathes, gaze stuck on him so that Joe can almost watch the water begin to pool in Nicky's eyes. "You never said."

"I wanted it to be a surprise, _habibi_ ," Joe whispers, careful that it's unheard by the other occupants of the room. It all clicks for Nicky then; why Joe was so insistent that they stop here — his only request the whole trip.

"I thought you'd just looked familiar from last night," the woman begins, shuffling the papers in her hands, "but you must just have good family genes." She gestures with her head to the sketch of Nicky clutched in his hand. "That is, if they're even real."

"They're real," Joe assures her.

"My grandma used to say that we're all just recycled, that we live a hundred different lives in the same vessels," the woman continues, shrugging. "Maybe that's one of yours."

Nicky and Joe share a look between them; she has no idea how right she is. If Andy were here, she'd insist something be done. It's almost too close of a call, with what the woman witnessed last night and the pictures now. She'd at least demand that the sketches be confiscating before the woman can use them to put two and two together and alert others to what she's discovered. Joe can take care of at least part of that, even if it is his own donations that he’s buying back.

"Don't worry," the woman offers, picking up the once abandoned box of overflowing documents. She couldn't have missed the look between them; she must think that they think she's crazy. Joe only feels slightly sorry; it's better if she thinks that over her surprisingly accurate assumption. "They're not going anywhere any time soon. We don’t have any interested buyers. You can come back to look at them whenever."

Joe offers to buy them from her on the spot and the box in her hands finally tumbles to the floor.

...

After many picked-up papers later and several hundreds of euros exchanged between them, Nicky tucks the drawings under his arm as Joe wraps an arm around his torso, to pull him closer, even as they leave.

"Wait!" Nicky remarks, turning back to the young woman, now tucking the money into a small envelope and stuffing more discarded papers into the full box. "We don't even know your name."

"Joanna," she supplies, "but most people call me Jo."

Nicky laughs, bright and beautiful, and Joe's heart fills with the sound.

...

Later that night, Joe and Nicky are seated at a cafe across the street, watching as the sun paints the sky golden and the world continues to pass around the them. Joe's inched his chair as close as possible to Nicky's slinging an arm around the other man's shoulders. They're debating the logistics of dropping baklava off with Andy and Nile, who are halfway across the world on a private mission from Copley, when a particular movement catches his eye. Joe taps Nicky's shoulder softly and gestures toward the small building, watching as Jo finishes closing. She makes it a few paces before she's reunited with a blonde woman, who greets her with a quick kiss and wide smile. The two watch as the young women walk off, hand-in-hand, and when Nicky turns to Joe, he's smiling.

"My hero," Joe breathes, pressing a gentle kiss to Nicky's lips.

When Nicky pulls away, he's smiling as well. "We should come back more often."

"Yes, but I was thinking Malta first."

**Author's Note:**

> what ??? is this??? is any of this historically accurate??? can you keep records from the crusades?? would people be keeping records then??? will i ever stop adding funky lesbian ocs to my fics??? who knows!!! this is the first fic i've written in a year be kind to me aklhsf
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated <3
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ wndasmaximoffs
> 
> title comes from 'two slow dancers' by mitski


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